


I Haven't Said Enough

by immortalsoldiers



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst with a Happy Ending, Castiel and Jimmy Novak are Twins (Supernatural), Cheating, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Established Relationship, F/M, Light Angst, M/M, Miscommunication, except not really? it's a misunderstanding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:33:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24898501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/immortalsoldiers/pseuds/immortalsoldiers
Summary: It started off badly—texts that start with “I don’t know how to tell you this” rarely end well—and got worse when the picture loaded. His boyfriend, sitting on a bench on the eastern side of campus, kissing a woman who was beautiful, and blonde, and most importantly not Dean.or: Dean is dismayed when Charlie sends him a damning photo of his boyfriend cheating on him. Castiel's explanation is so absurd, it might just make sense.
Relationships: Amelia Novak/Jimmy Novak, Castiel & Jimmy Novak (Supernatural), Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 35
Kudos: 197





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! This is the first thing I've written in YEARS and the first thing I'm posting to AO3! I'm proud of it but, you know. I'm rusty. Also I'm still unsure how to tag things. I would love feedback!
> 
> I left it open-ended (not with Dean and Cas though no worries) because I kind of want to continue the broader story??? we'll see! But I hope you like this little 2k piece :)
> 
> Title is from Losing My Religion, which I imagine to be a theme to the verse I've written in my head and because I'm bad at titles

Dean’s day started off strong, for a Monday. He had managed to get through his morning physics quiz without doing too much damage to his GPA and was headed into his literature class armed with _killer_ discussion questions on Vonnegut (Dean was still in disbelief that the university let him fill his core requirement with a class on sci-fi, but he wasn’t complaining) when he got the text from Charlie.

It started off badly—texts that start with “I don’t know how to tell you this” rarely end well—and got worse when the picture loaded.

His boyfriend, sitting on a bench on the eastern side of campus, kissing a woman who was beautiful, and blonde, and most importantly _not Dean._

Dean blinked at it, staring at his phone just steps in front of his classroom, and he could feel the blood rushing in his ears as his vision turned red—to match his face, he was sure. But if there was _anything_ Dean took seriously, it was Kurt Vonnegut, so he forced his eyes closed, turned his phone off, and shoved it deep into his backpack. He had plans to meet Castiel after class, anyway, and would confront him about it then. If he argued just a little more aggressively in class than usual…well, he could use the participation points.

An hour and a half (and some intense debate that Dean _totally_ won) later, he was marching across campus towards the cafe on the north side—one particular table, the same table they had first met at last semester when there were no other seats, Dean had an exam to cram for, and the other guy at the table seemed nice enough, if _distractingly_ attractive.

Which, admittedly, hurt his grade on that exam, but Dean had never minded that. It had been worth it, he told himself, and he believed it until…

The memory of the photo floated into Dean’s vision and he swallowed hard, pausing to shake his head. He was _angry_ , he reminded himself. And—and _hurt_. And no soft memories of late-night study sessions that turned into post-study drinks that turned into even _more_ were going to change that.

Castiel looked up when Dean approached, immediately greeting him with the wide smile he had come to know and love, but Dean fought off the warm fuzzies and kept his face tight, unforgiving. The smile faded and Cas began to stand, but before he could, Dean slammed himself into the seat across from him and fixed his boyfriend with an icy stare. 

Cas moved back a bit, consternation written across his face, and he fixed Dean with a look that said he knew something was deeply wrong, but he had no idea _what_. “Dean, wha—” he began, but Dean cut him off with a snap. “Don’t play dumb, Cas. You know what you did.” His boyfriend blinked, and then frowned, concern replaced with deep confusion, tinged with a fear that almost made Dean feel guilty. _Almost._ “Truly, I don’t.”

Dean sighed. So they were going to play it that way. Sure. He angrily dug his phone out of the bottom of his backpack, where he had been trying to ignore it as if it was the device’s fault he felt like this. They both watched the loading screen as his phone turned on in the most sickly tense few seconds of their relationship before Dean navigated to his messages, pulled up The Photo, and slid his phone across the table to Castiel.

“ _That,_ ” he spat out, “is what you did _._ What the _fuck_ , man?”

Cas didn’t move for a long second. He just stared at the phone, and some evil part of Dean felt triumphant. _Ha,_ he thought. _Let’s see how you like getting caught._ But Castiel just sighed and picked up the phone, zooming in for closer inspection. Dean stared at him, closely, as the expression on his face shifted from confusion, to recognition, to something like…grief?

Finally, he looked up to meet Dean’s eyes, and he saw plenty of sadness there, but no guilt. Something inside Dean ached. Did he care so little that he didn’t even feel _guilty?_

Cas swallowed thickly, pushed the phone back across the table, and didn’t meet his gaze. It was silent for another long, terrible second before he spoke.

“That’s not me.”

Dean raised his eyebrows and leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. Out of all the ways he expected this to go down, this wasn’t it. He expected his boyfriend to be smarter than that. He scoffed. “Really, dude? You ran through all your options and you’re going with ‘that’s not me?’ Come _on_ , Cas.” This was ridiculous. He deserved better than some half-assed excuse. _That’s not me._ Dean glowered.

Across the table, Castiel mirrored his movements, leaning back in his own chair and crossing his own arms in a gesture that seemed more self-soothing than angry. He sighed again. “I know this is hard to believe—”

“Yeah, it _fucking is_ ,” Dean interrupted him harshly, and Cas shot him a _look_ , and Dean shut up.

“It’s hard to _believe,_ ” he started again, angrier, “but that’s _not me._ ” A pause, as if he was trying to figure out how to continue. “That’s, um. That’s my brother.” Another pause. “My twin brother. James.” Cas stopped there and dropped both hands to his lap, staring down at them, any anger or frustration gone. The sadness was back.

Dean stared at him, mouth open slightly. Cas was really sticking to this story, and even though it was _ridiculous,_ and Dean should be furious that his boyfriend thought he was this gullible, Cas was being so sincere that Dean was at a loss.

“I’ve met your brothers,” he argued back, because it seemed the most obvious fallacy. Gabriel lived close enough that they saw him somewhat regularly, and he’d met Michael over an incredibly uncomfortable dinner while he was in town for business. Neither of them had mentioned a mysterious twin.

Cas looked up and shrugged slightly. “You’ve met two of them.” And as that was Dean’s only real rebuttal, he was at a loss again.

“You’re telling me that you have a secret, _identical_ twin brother, who you haven’t mentioned to me in our entire _six months_ of dating, who your brothers _also_ haven’t mentioned. Sounds real likely.” He said dryly, hoping it would sound less absurd out loud. It didn’t.

If Cas caught the sarcasm, he didn’t show it. Instead, he nodded, some relief creeping into his eyes at Dean’s faux understanding. “Yes. That’s correct. We don’t, um. Speak. Our brothers respect our wishes to not discuss each other.” The relief was gone, replaced with a frown, and he reached out for Dean’s phone, unlocking it so he could once again see the photo on the screen. It was an intimate action, and Dean remembered the day he’d let Cas program his fingerprint into his phone—they’d been about to go on a road trip, and Cas only needed to be able to text Sam back while Dean was driving, but he had seemed so honored by the gesture that Dean had kept it.

Now, more than anything, the memory made Dean hope that somehow this story _wasn’t_ just an elaborate ruse.

“I’m glad he’s doing well,” Dean tuned back in at the sound of Cas’ voice, and he looked up to see his boyfriend smiling softly at the phone. He looked back up at Dean and held his gaze, smile faltering.

“I apologize for not telling you. I…you weren’t supposed to find out this way. It’s difficult to talk about, and I admit that I thought this campus was large enough that it wouldn’t become a problem just yet. The only reason we’re both here is that our mother thought it would force us into getting along. As you can see, that didn’t happen.” He stopped there but didn’t break eye contact, searching Dean’s face for a reaction.

Dean sighed, as the last bit of doubt faded away. It _was_ unbelievable, but a lot of things about Cas and his life were. And, honestly, so were a lot of things about Dean’s. He opened his mouth to—what, tell his boyfriend he believed him? Apologize for his anger?—but Castiel’s phone buzzed before he could say anything.

Cas smiled as he reached for it. “I wasn’t sure if you’d believe me, and I have no pictures of the two of us, so I texted Gabriel—” he opened a message before turning the phone to show Dean, obviously trying not to look at the photo too hard himself. “This was our sixteenth birthday.”

Dean stared down at the picture. In the middle, a man easily identifiable as Gabriel, if six years younger, with his arms around not one, but _two_ young Castiels. Or, Dean corrected himself, one Cas and one…what name had he said? Jake? James? Dean made a note to ask later. And also ask how one of them got named _Castiel_ and the other got _James_. Or Jake. Or whatever.

In the photo they were both laughing, happy, looking towards the camera but completely at ease in each other’s company. Dean wanted to ask what had happened, but Cas had made it very clear he didn’t want to talk about it so Dean shoved that question down for later, too. Instead, he scanned their faces, looking for any differences. The two boys in the picture were remarkably identical, even for identical twins, but there was something different about one of them; how he held the photographer’s gaze, piercing and steady, even through the smile and the happiness in his eyes.

“You’re on the right,” Dean said, instead of any of the other things he could have, and when he looked up, Cas was gaping at him. “Yes,” he replied simply. “Yes, I am. But, Dean, nobody has ever been…”

He trailed off there, and something warm and comforting bloomed in Dean’s chest. He slid Castiel’s phone back across the table towards him, then left his hand there, open, inviting. Cas slid his own hand in without a second thought, and he linked their fingers together.

“Hey,” Dean started, softly. They hadn’t said the words yet, but they were there, he knew. He’d put money on Cas knowing it, too. But even if he _had_ managed to fight his way through the commitment issues, emotionally unavailable, afraid-of-love bullshit Charlie had been lecturing him on for years, now wasn’t the time. “I’m sorry I was angry,” Dean said instead, and Cas smiled at him, and he knew it was over and everything was okay.

“It’s alright. I understand the confusion. Although,” Cas tilted his head, frowning a bit. “Dean. You do know I’m _gay_ , right?”

Dean flushed and pulled back. “I _know_ , but—” he started. “Listen, man, that was like, step _two_ , okay? What was I supposed—” He realized that Castiel was laughing, and had chased Dean’s hand across the table to hold it in his own again.

“Dean. _Dean._ It’s fine. I know. I love you.”

Dean froze, staring back at his boyfriend, who seemed blissfully unaware of what he had just _done._ A split second later, before he could really even process it, he was pulling Cas across the table to kiss him, and nothing else mattered.

Neither of them noticed a young woman, across the lounge, surreptitiously snap a photo and send it off to her best friend.

Neither of them had any idea when, in a windowless lecture hall, in the middle of her economics class, Amelia got a panicked text message accompanying the worst photo she had ever seen. _Well,_ she thought, her good mood souring, _it_ had _been a good Monday._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas says that Dean can't fix it, but Dean is never one to back down from a challenge. No matter how many times Charlie says it's a bad idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the first chapter got so much (completely unexpected) positive feedback (thank you all omg) that I had to keep going!  
> This is another cliffhanger but only because I want consistent chapter lengths, the next one is already written and will be up today too :)

Dean couldn’t stop thinking about it.

He had tried to move on, he really had, but how Castiel had talked about his mystery brother had moved into the middle of Dean’s thoughts and set up permanent residence in his brain like it was some sort of prime, beachfront real estate. Cas had just looked so _sad_. Dean had seen his boyfriend sad before. He hadn’t seen him sad _like that_.

In the metaphor, it was blocking Dean’s picturesque view of the…mind ocean, or whatever. In reality, it was distracting him from Castiel, who had him pinned against the brick wall of his studio apartment.

“What about your other brothers? Do they still talk to him?”

Cas sighed heavily, removed his lips from where they had been working their way down Dean’s neck, and dropped his forehead to his shoulder.

Dean instantly regretted saying anything, just as he had multiple times in the two days since he had confronted Cas about cheating on him and instead been told about his secret twin. Who, Dean had learned, Cas hadn’t spoken to in the three and a half years since they both came to college. With no intention of ever speaking again. For a mystery reason Cas still hadn’t explained.

Yeah, Dean called bullshit.

“Dean,” Cas began, yanking Dean out of his thoughts again. “I would appreciate it if you didn't bring up my family while I'm _trying_ to make out with you.” The emphasis was on ‘trying,’ and Dean winced.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, sheepish. Cas stepped away to peer up at him with that head-tilted, eyes narrowed, brows furrowed _look_ that meant he was trying to figure him out, and now Dean regretted it even more. “Why is this so important to you?” he asked, and Dean shrugged.

“It just…you’re obviously sad about it.” It was a weak attempt at an explanation, and they both knew it. Dean shifted, not meeting Cas’ eyes. “I just keep thinking about if it was me and Sam not talking, I guess. And it sucks.”

Cas sighed again and stepped back fully, crossing his arms as Dean slumped against the brick. “It _does_ suck. A lot. Which is why I am _asking_ you to _drop it_.” The last part was pointed, sharp, and Dean’s shame deepened.

“I know, I’m sorry. I just think—” Cas cut him off, harshly. “Let it _go_ , Dean. James and I aren’t you and Sam. There are _reasons_ I don’t want to talk about it. I know you have this intrinsic need to save everyone around you,” at this point he had uncrossed his arms and was gesturing angrily, while Dean kept his gaze trained to a single knot in the wood floor, “but you don’t have to save me here. You _can’t_. So just…please.”

The last word sounded more defeated than angry, so Dean forced himself to look up. He swallowed and nodded, not wanting to apologize a third time, and they held tense eye contact for a long second before Castiel sighed, rubbed a hand across his face, and took a step forward. “I’m sorry,” he said, softly, placing both hands on Dean’s shoulders. Dean felt even _more_ guilty that Cas was apologizing when _he_ was the one who couldn’t keep his big mouth shut, but—“I love you,” Cas continued, and Dean’s protests died in his throat as the warmth of the words _nearly_ canceled out the guilt of upsetting his boyfriend. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to hearing them, and he didn’t want to.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the end of Castiel’s sentence. “I love you, and I know it’s because you care. But I don’t need you to fix this. I don’t _want_ you to. So please don’t try.” And the guilt was back.

Dean sighed, and nodded again, this time saying something. “Okay.” Cas visibly relaxed, and Dean took this as permission to wrap his arms back around his boyfriend’s waist, pulling him closer. “Okay. I’ll let it go. _If_ —” he smirked, “we pick up where we left off, before I opened my dumb mouth.”

Cas paused, regarding Dean through narrowed eyes for just long enough that Dean started to worry that he’d made it worse, but then he nodded and smiled. A real smile, a warm one. _Trusting_ , Dean thought, smiling back. “I’ll accept those terms,” he replied, already leaning in—and that was that.

Except that it wasn’t, because ‘letting go’ wasn’t really in Dean Winchester’s vocabulary.

Hours later, Castiel snoring softly beside him, Dean was staring up at the dark ceiling and doing the exact opposite of letting it go. There was always a way to fix it—Dean had Bob-the-Builder'd his way out of enough situations to learn that. He just needed more intel. 

Sure, Cas didn’t want to talk about it—but what if he didn’t have to? What if there was someone else who could? 

By the time he fell asleep, Dean had an idea. A _great_ idea. 

* * *

“This is a terrible idea,” Charlie said, looking over her laptop at him. “For the record.”

“It was in the record the first two times you said that,” Dean retorted. “And, _for the record_ , this is your fault in the first place.”

“Yeah, well, I want it _super_ clear that I, Charlie Bradbury, don’t endorse any of this. My fault or not,” she turned back to her laptop. “And excuse me for trying to do the right thing. Don’t get me wrong, Dean, I’m thrilled Cas isn’t cheating on you, but who was I to know this would end up like some _Days of our Lives_ College AU?”

“You could’ve just confronted them,” Dean grumbled, almost petulant. Charlie sighed. “I was late to class. Besides, I don’t _confront_. I _sneak._ I’m _sneaky._ ”

Dean rolled his eyes and leaned forward in the chair. “If you really think this is a terrible idea, why agree to help me?”

“Because if I didn’t, you’d have asked Ash.”

“So? You don’t even _know_ Ash.” Ash was a _home_ friend. Charlie was a _college_ friend. 

“No, but I know enough to know it wouldn’t end well. Besides,” she looked up again, “if _anyone_ is going to spend their class-free Friday helping you stalk your boyfriend’s estranged twin’s girlfriend, it’s going to be me.”

Dean wavered. “Okay, well. When you put it like _that_ , it sounds like—”

“A bad plan?” Charlie finished, unhelpfully, and Dean glared at her.

“No. A fucking _awesome_ plan that is _definitely_ going to work.” He retorted, defiant. “And it’s not stalking.”

“Then why are we in the campus Starbucks at 9am on a Friday, Dean?” She challenged.

Dean sighed. “Because Amelia comes through here every Friday morning before going to study.”

“Right. And how do we know that?”

Dean paused. “Um. I don’t know. You did that part.”

Charlie sighed and closed her laptop. “Through stalking. But we’re here now. What are you going to say to her that you couldn’t just send through Instagram DMs?”

“I have to figure out if she _knows_ , Charlie, that’s why I couldn’t just DM her,” Dean explained, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Okay. How?” Charlie responded, unfazed, and Dean frowned. “I was hoping I’d figure that out once we got here.”

“Oh, I get it now! Great plan, Dean,” the sarcasm was evident, and Dean glared at her.

“Shut up, _Charlene._ ”

“That’s _Queen_ Charlene to you, _handmaiden,_ ” Charlie retorted. Dean began to respond, but Charlie quickly shushed him before he could, eyes wide and gesturing entirely too unsubtly to the door behind him.

Dean turned slowly, disguising it as a stretch, to watch Amelia Everett walk across the café to order her usual. Right on time. As predicted, through—as much as Dean hated to admit it—stalking.

“Showtime,” he mumbled, not bothering to look at Charlie as he stood. He didn’t need her disapproval messing up his game.

Step one was to casually walk to the trash can, ‘accidentally’ shoulder-checking the blonde woman on the way. Just enough to make her stumble, enough that it would be plausible for Dean to catch her by the shoulder, already apologizing.

Step two was to search her face for any sign of recognition.

Step three, was. Well. Dean didn’t really have a step three yet. And judging by the way Amelia was just staring at him, blankly, vaguely scared, step two was going south. And suddenly, maybe Charlie was _right_ , and this _was_ a bad plan, and Cas was _definitely_ going to break up with him if he got arrested for accosting his _brother’s girlfriend,_ but then Amelia seemed to realize she had been staring for too long and stepped back in a hurry. “I’m sorry,” she hastily apologized, blushing in obvious embarrassment. “I just—you look so much my fiancé’s brother’s boyfriend, but I’ve only seen him in a pic—in pictures,” she explained.

Dean grinned. Behind him, Charlie groaned.

Maybe their stalking _would_ pay off.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amelia confronts James. Dean schemes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amelia briefly panics and makes some big assumptions about Jimmy's sexuality bUT there is no homophobia or hate here, just (as it turns out, unfounded) worry about what it would mean for their relationship

_Monday, 7:00 pm_

Amelia sat on her couch, arms crossed, illuminated only by the floor lamp next to her. It felt too much like the movie cliché, waiting for her cheating fiancé to get home in the half-darkness, but she and James’ eternal status as broke college kids meant they couldn’t afford an apartment with overhead lighting in the living room.

She stared at the phone in her lap, not wanting to unlock it to see the contents but mentally preparing herself to use it if she had to. The whole day had been a battle between intense anger and trying to come to some semblance of understanding. Was he gay? That would be okay, she had finally decided. Well, not _okay_ , not for _them_ , but she could support him. And move on. But couldn’t he have told her, and saved her the pain? She knew he had a complicated history with religion—was _that_ why? But they attended the same services at the catholic center on campus. A progressive one. The priest pinned a pride flag up before every service, for God’s sake. So maybe he wasn’t gay and was just cheating on her. That would be _much_ worse. Was she not _good_ enough? Was it because—

The sound of the key in the lock stopped her from going down _that_ particular path, and she looked up just in time to see the door to their apartment swing open.

“Honey, I’m ho—” James got half-way through the cheesy tradition, which Amelia usually found so endearing, before catching sight of her and frowning. “Why are you sitting in the dark?” he asked, slipping off his coat and hanging it up before moving to the kitchen and flipping the switch. Light spilled out from the open kitchen, illuminating the other half of the living room.

Oh. She had forgotten about that.

In the full light, James could see the entirety of the hurt/angry/panicked expression on his fiancée’s face, and he stopped. “What?” he asked, and she stood, arms crossed tightly.

“Is there something you want to tell me, Jimmy?” she asked, trying to fight the anger. It didn’t really work.

“Um. No?” He didn’t move out of the kitchen. “What’s wrong?”

“Are you sure?” she questioned. “Nothing about you, and—” the last part came out a squeak. “and men?”

James stared at her, at a complete loss. “I got lunch with Rodger, if that’s what you mean?” it obviously wasn’t. He took a deep breath. “Really, Ames, I have no idea what’s going on.”

She looked at him for a moment before crossing the room and wordlessly shoving her phone in his face. He took it, holding it closer to his face for a moment. “Huh.” He looked back at Amelia, still waiting for an answer. His eyes widened as it clicked. “Oh! Oh, _no—_ that’s not me, that’s Castiel.” He said, as if that was supposed to be helpful.

“Castiel.”

“Uh huh.”

Amelia paused. She narrowed her eyes. “So you’re _not_ gay, you just have a clone who is.” The reply was dry, her disbelief evident.

“Close. Identical twin who is. Hold on—” he paused. “You thought—” the asshole had the nerve to _laugh_. Amelia threw her hands up in frustration.

“Yes! What was I supposed to think? I had a whole speech planned about unconditional love and acceptance and support and—hold on, did you say _identical twin?_ ”

“Yeah, my brother Castiel.” He rolled his eyes at the expression on her face. “Come on, Amelia, I told you I have brothers I don’t talk to.” As if that made it all better.

“You never mentioned one of them being your _identical twin!”_ she protested, and James frowned.

“Does it matter?”

“Yes!” she cried, irritation back.

“Why?”

“Because—I don’t know! Because of—things like this,” she gestured to her phone, which Jimmy had set on a counter. “And because—aren’t you supposed to be, like, closer than close? You’re telling me you have a twin that you’re _so_ estranged from you didn’t even tell your fiancée.” She pointed at him. “Tell me that makes sense, Jimmy.”

He sighed, and crossed his arms, all sign of amusement gone. “It’s a big campus. We’ve avoided this for years, I guess I thought we could make it the last few months.”

Amelia frowned. “You were just going to let us get married without telling me.” It wasn’t a question. His shoulders sank, and he looked down. “I was going to tell you. I just didn’t know how. You can believe me or not, but I don’t have any way to prove it. I don’t have pictures of us and we haven’t spoken in four years.” He looked up to meet her eyes at this, and she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him look this sad.

“What happened?” she said, quietly, and James shrugged.

“You’re right, you know? We were supposed to be close. And we were. But I…needed a break.”

That was all the explanation she got, and when he turned back into the kitchen Amelia knew it was the end of the conversation. She had questions, _many_ , and she still wasn’t completely sure she believed him, but she knew that was all for later. “I’ll order a pizza?” she suggested instead, an olive branch they both knew too well, and Jimmy smiled at her over his shoulder. “Thanks.”

* * *

_Friday, 9:30am_

“And that’s all I have,” Amelia shrugged, taking a sip from the last dregs of her latte after recanting how her own photo fiasco had gone. After a brief, if awkward, explanation of who he was (leaving out all the cyber-stalking, of course), Dean had convinced her to sit down with him and Charlie to try and fill in the gaps. So far, it hadn’t been too helpful.

Dean sighed, slouching in his chair. “Still more than Cas told me.”

“What did he tell you?”

He shrugged. “Nothing more than that Jimmy exists, and he snapped at me when I tried to ask more.”

“Maybe that means you shouldn’t be investigating,” Amelia pointed out, and Dean frowned. He shook his head. “I know, man, but…he just seems so _sad_ about it. Like someone _died_ , or something.” He took a sip of coffee before looking back at her. “You get that from yours?”

Amelia hesitated, then nodded, remembering the expression on Jimmy’s face the first time she’d said something, repeating itself the next few times she’d brought it up until she’d learned not to. “Nothing’s ever made him sad like that,” she agreed.

"And this whole 'needing a break' thing. Who cuts off their twin brother for almost _four years_ and calls it 'a break?' Knowing Cas, it's probably just some dumb misunderstanding that blew up." Dean paused, then smiled, an idea forming. He leaned forward, conspiratorial. “So. They don’t talk, they’re both sad about it. We’ve got three months left of senior year. What’s a better grad present than a family reunion?” he grinned.

Unfortunately, the blonde woman didn’t seem to agree. She blinked, then quickly shook her head. “No. Listen, I know you mean well, but if there’s anything I’ve gotten from all this, it’s that no matter how sad they are they don’t even want to talk about what happened. I can’t imagine forcing them together would go well.”

Charlie, who had been quiet most of this time, gave Dean a triumphant kick in the shins under the table. He glared at her.

Amelia sighed, checking her phone for the time. “Listen, it’s been really great meeting you, but I have to go. I’ve already eaten up enough time, and I have an exam Monday.”

“Wait,” he reached out a hand to stop her from leaving, and she paused. “What?”

“Could you send me that picture? Of me and Cas?” he asked, suddenly shy. It _did_ sound stupid, when he said it out loud, but—“It was an important moment for us,” he smiled, remembering the circumstances that had led to him dragging his boyfriend across a café table by the collar. “It’s nice someone got it, even if it was while trying to expose his brother for cheating on, um. You.”

It had sounded better in his head.

Amelia smiled, seeming to understand. “Sure.” She pulled the photo up on her phone, navigated to the ‘share’ menu, and held it out to him. “Send it to yourself.”

Dean grinned and typed in his number, a buzz from his own phone signaling the photo had gone through. He stared at it, smiling.

“It _is_ a cute picture,” Amelia seemed to read his mind, “now that I know he’s, you know, _yours._ ” Dean nodded, understanding. “Thanks.”

She smiled back. “Of course. I really gotta go, but. It was nice meeting you, really. I’m glad everything got cleared up.”

“Likewise,” Dean replied, and then she left.

And then it was just him and Charlie, who sighed. “Alright, I’m tapping out.”

Dean frowned. “Of what?”

Charlie shook her head. “I know you have another plan, Winchester, or you’ll think of one soon, but I’m out. Cas is my friend, too, and I’m not going to help you with whatever scheme you come up with.”

“I don’t—I don’t _scheme_ ,” he said, offended, but Charlie just rolled her eyes and stood.

“Sure. Listen, I gotta go. But really, Dean. Be careful. And I’ll see you tonight, yeah?” It was Star Trek night tonight, part of an ongoing saga to get Cas into sci-fi. Dean sighed. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll see you.”

He frowned as he watched her leave, and once she was gone, sank back into his chair with a pout. He wasn’t _scheming_. He was _helping_.

Right?

* * *

Randomly running into Jimmy’s mystery-brother’s boyfriend in Starbucks had been fun, Amelia thought, but now she was ready to put it behind her and accept that closure as the best she would get.

And she did, at least for the next 6 hours. Until she walked back into her apartment to find her fiancé sitting on the couch—although, to his credit, he’d remembered to turn to kitchen light on this time—beer in one hand, staring at his phone in the other.

Stepping closer, she could tell it was the picture of Dean and Castiel, which she hadn’t even remembered sending him. “Honey?” she questioned, and James jumped, quickly closing the photo.

“Shit—sorry, Ames, I didn’t even hear you come in.”

She sighed and sat down next to him. “Are you alright?”

He smiled, but it was thin. “Yeah, of course. I just—” he gestured with his phone. “It’s good to see him happy, you know? It’s been a while.” He swallowed, thickly, and that sad look was back, and Amelia made a decision.

A few hours later, she pulled out her phone, finding the message thread created when Dean had texted himself the picture. Taking a deep breath, and hoping for the best, she typed out a short message.

_I’m in. I want to help._


End file.
